


Burning Ashes

by Theamazingfandomunicorn



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Fandom
Genre: Alexander is a bit of a dick, Angst, Angst with no happy ending, Cheating, Eliza deserved better, Eliza is a sweet Cinnamon roll, F/M, Flashbacks, Hamliza, Heavy - Freeform, Heavy Angst, Helpless, I Tried, LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, Like, Reynolds Pamphlet, Songfic, Swearing, The Author Regrets Nothing, also including, burn - Freeform, but not as much as James Reynolds, poor eliza, protect Maria Reynolds 2k17, satisfied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theamazingfandomunicorn/pseuds/Theamazingfandomunicorn
Summary: Eliza finds out about the affair via the Pamphlet. Angst ensues.'"I saved every letter you wrote me." She looked up, out of the window where rain was now lashing down. She thought back to all the lies and letters he had written to her; the poems he had written for her."From the moment I read them I knew you were mine." She looked back down at the letter in her now shaking hand."You said you were mine," Her fingers itched and before her mind could register what she was doing, she threw it into the amber fire along with remnants of the Pamphlet.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hamilton fan fiction, so feel free to leave any feedback you have.

Eliza drew back the heavy, velvet crimson curtains. She looked out through the large crystalline bay window that overlooked the spacious field outside their house. The weather was beautiful, the sun was burning brightly in a cloudless sky. Her eight children were taking full advantage of the wonderful weather by playing amongst the tall grass.

Smiling to herself, she turned back into the grand living room. Taking a large wicker basket, she softly closed the door and stepped down the concrete steps that led to the house she and Alex had bought all those years ago.

Looking up, the sky was cloudless and a powdery blue. It matched her light blue satin dress that rustled slightly in the cool autumn breeze.

Walking out onto the high street, she could hear the quiet whispers and slight rustling of paper. She pretended not to notice the eyes that burnt into her, though she caught sight of one of those pamphlets that everyone seemed to be reading. She could instantly recognise her husband's fluent and flowing handwriting. Unmistakable.

A familiar feeling of dread came over her, what HAD he done now?

Ever since she came back from visiting her father upstate he seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet. It was like he was ashamed, almost guilty. When she confronted him about it, he told her that he was just tired. He was just a little over-worked. When she told him to go and see a doctor, he had just brushed her off. He had been locking himself in his study for hours and hours on end ever since he had been visited by Burr, Madison and Jefferson. She often wondered what he was doing in there.

She was about to find out.

As she turned the corner, she was stopped by a small man.  
"May I help you?" She asked cautiously, uncertain of his intentions.  
"I-I'm sorry." He stuttered quietly, refusing to meet her eye. Then, just as he handed her a large pamphlet- the one that everyone was reading, several clouds appeared as if from nowhere and blocked out the sun.

Taking it, she walked over to her favourite park. The one that Alexander had first told her that he loves her, it holds enormous sentimental value for her. Sitting down on a nearby bench, she read the title 'The Reynolds Pamphlet'.

"The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds, for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent." As Eliza read this aloud, her eyebrows furrowed and breathing quickened. What?

'Amorous connection'?

'His wife'?

'Knowing consent'?

No. This was all just a big misunderstanding, Alexander loved her. He had sworn he had, he told her he had. He loves her.

Doesn't he?

She continued "I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house." Eliza's breath hitched as she read this sentence over and over, her brain frantically trying to register this information.

Clearing the tears clouding her vision that ebbed and threatened to spill over, she read on, fearful of what was to come next.

"Mrs. Hamilton and our children being absent on a visit to her father." Eliza suddenly became aware that she couldn't breathe, she felt faint and dizzy. Her chest rose and fell in quick succession, how could he do this? To her? To their children?

This is just a dream. Yes, that's what this is. This is just a bad dream, a nightmare. A nightmare. She will wake up and Alexander will be there, next to her. And not because he has to. Because he wants to, because he loves her. Because he loves their children and there will be no 'Mrs. Maria Reynolds'. No 'James Reynolds'. No 'Reynolds Pamphlet'.

Just them and their children. He will go upstate with them because he wants to be with them and spend time with them. They will all have a lovely time and live happily ever after. The End.

A deep voice drew Eliza from her thoughts.

"Ever see someone ruin their own life?" He joked to friend, obviously thankful for the fresh source of gossip in New York City.

His slightly smaller friend must have seen Eliza, in shock at what she had just discovered, because he replied.

"His poor wife."

And with that, the tears that she had being trying so incredibly hard to force back, cascaded down her cheeks and dropped onto the ground, along with the poisonous pamphlet that had detailed her husband's infidelity. Could she even call him that anymore?

She ran. She ran and ran and ran. She ran all the way back to their home, the house they built together, the house they had raised all eight of their children in, the house they had made a home together.

The house he had brought Maria Reynolds in, the house he had broken Eliza's heart in, the house he had lied to her in, the house he had betrayed her and their wedding vows in, the house he had ruined their lives in.

The children were still playing out in the field, perfectly oblivious and innocent in their own little bubble. Unaware of the scandalous gossip outside. Unaware of their mother's aching heart. Unaware of their father's adultery. They still believed that their parents were happy and in love.

She flew up the stairs and slammed the heavy oak door that led to their bedroom. She stopped and stared down at the offending bed. There they had shared their most intimate moments. There they talked late into the night. There she had given birth to all eight of their children.

The children. What will she tell them? They would be heartbroken if they found out the truth. No. They won't know, not yet.

Suddenly, full of rage, she stormed across the room, stopping short at her dresser as her blurry eyes locked onto the China figurine. It was the one Alexander had given to her for their first anniversary.

It was a beautiful figurine of a ballet dancer. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the light pink ribbon matched her pastel tutu and peach shoes. Her long and delicate porcelain fingers just slightly grazed her slim ankles that were connected with her graceful legs. Her eyes were gazing softly downwards and her rosy lips were slightly parted and her cheeks were carefully painted to perfection. It was a fine example of exquisite craftsmanship.

She carefully picked it up and inspected it. She still remembered the moment he gave her this, his shy and embarrassed eyes. He blushed slightly and he smiled a little. Where was that Alexander? HER Alexander?

Her grip on the slight thing tightened as her mind flashed through what he had done to her.

She through it towards to the hard wall.

It all happened in slow-motion. It shattered on impact, the tiny China fragments fell to the floor and scattered underneath the dresser. Her mind flashed back.  
\-----------------------------------  
 _She was standing in a large candlelit ballroom. She instantly knew where she was. Her eyes scanned the room and she saw Angelica in her pink satin dress half lit by the flickering lights, her bright, white smile could have lightened the whole room. She dazzled it._

_The band was playing at top volume, people were dancing in pairs. Women's skirts twirled and swirled around in a multitude of colours, like a rainbow in a nights sky. The candles were the stars. The dancers and guests were the planets that rotated effortlessly around the moon..._

_Who was the moon?_

_Angelica?_

_The richest, most handsome man?_

_Woman?_

_He entered. A small and slight man with deep and brown, intelligent eyes and a hunger-pang frame. Suddenly, she felt something lift in her chest. It was like her heart had grown wings and fluttered straight out of her breast. It felt like a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It felt like... like the sky's the limit. She immediately grabbed her sister and whispered harshly "Yo this one's mine."_

_However, her heart slammed back into her chest and the weight when her sister seemed to ignore her words that claimed him as hers. She felt nervous, wondering what she was going to do. Thinking she's through, she turned back towards the table located at the very edge of the grandiose ballroom and forced a large fake smile onto her face. Then, a voice dragged her out of her futile attempts at feigning happiness._

_"I'm about to change your life," It was the voice of her sister._

_"By all means lead the way." A deep male voice replied. It must have been His. It was soft and velvety. Thick like syrup. Sweet like chocolate._

_She turned to face her sister and her future husband.  
"Elizabeth Schuyler, it's a pleasure to meet you." She forced back the tears and the large lump that sat and throbbed in her throat. Her voice twinges with a hint of pain. She can see him and Angelica exchange a few words and Eliza hastily thanks him for his services to their country. That's what your supposed to say, right?_

_"If it takes a war for us to meet, it would have been worth it." He said, giving her a small, shy half smile. Eliza's breath hitched as she knew he made her truly helpless._

_"I'll leave you to it." Angelica joked, but as she moved away, Eliza could detect a hint of sadness in her voice. The way she moved. The way she held herself. She knew she could never be satisfied._

_But, as she opened her mouth to say something, he struck up a proper conversation. Soon, she was lost in the moment she met her soulmate._

\-----------------------------------  
Eliza stared at the blank wall, in shock at what she had done. What she had just remembered. She could feel a slight twinge of sadness in her heart. Like a twang from a delicate pluck of a cello that echoed around and empty ballroom.

Her eyes filled with tears as she whipped around and saw the draft of the pamphlet on the desk Alexander had written late into the night on. Infuriated- she grabbed it.

Why was it there? Was he so arrogant? Did he think she would never notice it? Maybe he thought it just didn't matter anymore? He had already confessed, job done. Right? Right?

She tore it in half.

Then in half again.

And again.

And again.

And again and again and again. She tore it until it was nothing more than fractions of confetti. How dare he. He had betrayed her and he had the disgusting courage to flaunt it in front of her. He lied to her. He betrayed her and he just expected her to forgive him. He had the courage to confess it to the world- and not even enough to confess it to her first. He was a coward. A courageous coward.

"Well, screw your courage to the sticking place." She whispered and threw the fragments of her husband's adulterous liaisons into the fire place that crackled in the corner.

She watched the flames roar and rise to show their approval. Her rage grew with it. Storming over to the dresser, she yanked out a draw full of pages and pages of letters. They were the letters he had written to her.

She took the one on the top. It was the one he had written to her only a week after he first met Maria Reynolds. She held it to the light, as if to search for clues. Something, anything. Just-   
Why?

He had lied to her. Told her everything was just fine. A single tear rolled down her pink cheek and dropped onto the paper, smudging the ink where Alexander had signed his name.

"I saved every letter you wrote me." She looked up, out of the window where rain was now lashing down. She thought back to all the lies and letters he had written to her; the poems he had written for her.

"From the moment I read them I knew you were mine." She looked back down at the letter in her now shaking hand.  
"You said you were mine," Her fingers itched and before her mind could register what she was doing, she threw it into the amber fire along with remnants of the Pamphlet.

She watched the lion roar it's approval, sparks flew upwards. She watched the edges turn golden then jet black and fold in on itself, like a dying butterfly. What had been parchment and ink turned into nothing more than charcoal. Dust. Dirt. Leftovers.

She stared blankly at it, her mind registering what she had just done. Then, an image of Maria Reynolds popped into her mind's eye. Her soft brown curls that mysteriously covered half her face. Her crimson dress that matches the exact same shade as her plump lips. Her body with curves in all the right places.

"I thought you were mine." She felt a wave of rage and hatred against the woman. But it went as soon as it had arrived, it wasn't her fault she reminded herself. It was her husband who had continued the affair. Maria was not a whore. She was not a seductress. She was not a home wrecker. Not a bunny boiler. She was an abused child.

Her eyes prickled with tears once again.

She threw another into the fire.

The one he wrote when she was pregnant with Philip.

The one he wrote after they got married.

The one he wrote the day before he proposed.

The one where he first told her he loved her.

The one where he detailed their first meeting perfectly.

They were all no more than fuel for the fire that raged in her heart. With each one she burnt, a large weight lifted from her shoulders. Like something lifting from her chest.

She took the last one out, the first one he ever wrote her.

His flowery language flooded her senses. He sent them into overdrive like exotic spices. His sentences left her defenceless, he tore them down one by one. He built her large palaces and lavish cathedrals of her own, all out of nothing more than hollow paragraphs and empty promises.

It symbolised Eliza's everything. It symbolised their youth. Their blissful courtship. Their innocence and naivety. Their pure love. It was a flame that refused to be put out and dampened. It was where he told her of his unyielding loyalty. It was where he grew her roses in the garden of her heart.

But now. Now she had nothing.

They were no longer young, they were older now. They were no longer courting, they were married. They were no longer innocent and naive, they were old and fully aware of the scathing of life. Their love was no longer pure, it was tainted and dirty. The flame had been all but extinguished. His loyalty had wondered, far from home. The roses in her garden were diseased and dead.

The lion beckoned her to it, it pleaded and begged her to let go. She knew Alexander did not love her. He had the money, the power, the influence. He had all he wanted.

All Eliza wanted was his love. Love from her own husband. Is that too much to ask? From her husband? Was he really her husband? Was he really hers?

These doubts whirled around her mind like a hurricane. She couldn't deal with it, she couldn't bear it. Why should she stay? He published every letter she wrote him with a disregard to how this will affect her and their children.

Lightning tore the sky apart and thunder rumbled in the distance.

She tossed it into the fire.

He broke her heart and now she's watching it burn. The now empty draw fell from her fingertips and made a loud clatter on the polished oak floor. She was shocked at what she had just done. She told herself that he deserved it, he had torn this family apart. She told herself it was better to just erase herself from the narrative. But she couldn't undo the hurt she felt. She couldn't undo the damage he had done.

Her legs gave way and she fell to the floor like they had been kicked out from under her. Her lungs were empty and her eyes stung from crying so hard.

She felt her heart tear itself into two and the venom of a broken heart it sent coursing around her body. She sobbed even harder, sobbing with the grey skies. Her entire body shook with a mixture of rage and grief.

She didn't know how long she had been there crying on the floor, tear tracks burning and branding themselves onto her cheeks. She heard a soft click at the door and the sounds of new shoes clacking on a polished floor. Looking up, she could see Alexander. His eyes were panicked and his face looked guilty.

"Eliza," He whispered softly.

Rage consumed her once again.

"I-I'm so sorry. But we can work through this, can't we?" He was cautious in choosing his words.

"Work through this." She stood up and let out a small humourless laugh. "Alexander, you told the world how brought this... this girl into our bed." She practically yelled.

"But, you don't understand... My legacy!" He knew that those words were wrong as soon as they left his tainted lips.

"Your legacy. Of course, how could I forget?" She turned to face him and she could see him avoiding her burning eyes.

"Yes, the legacy. Alexander, you have ruined our lives! But no, I now realise that the great Alexander Hamilton only stands for himself." Sarcasm drenched her every word.

"I-" He began but was cut off.

"No. Cut the crap Alexander, you vowed yourself to me. But now I know that those vows mean nothing to you." Sobbing violently now as she continued.

"I can't believe you published the letters she wrote you and now you're defending yourself! I read it, I read all of it. You, you and your words obsessed with your legacy. Your sentences that border on senseless." She felt her whole body fill up with hatred.

"But-" He tried again to find the words to express how sorry he was but he fell short. He knew what he had done was despicable, it was unforgivable. But, he also knew that he could make it up to her.

"For once, the amazing Alexander Hamilton is speechless!" Thunder and lightning punctuated the silence that followed.

"Eliza," He pleaded, almost begging now.

"No. Get out." She stated matter-of-factly.

"Please," He began. "I want things to go back to the way they were."

"The way they were." She let out another humourless laugh.  
"When you slept around and I pretended no to know." She continued.

Alexander opened his mouth and shut it again.

"Now get out." She stated again.

"Where will I sleep?" He questioned, suddenly apprehensive.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" She said in mock sympathy and concern.

Her tone suddenly turned scathing as she continued "You've slept with so many people, I'm surprised you can even remember where that bed is!" She turned away, she was barely able to look at him. Gathering herself, she whirled back around to face him once more.

"You have forfeited all rights to my heart and to that bed!" She pointed forcefully at the bed. The storm was in full effect and the children had retreated to the nursery to continue with their play.

Burning tears cascaded down her cheeks once again.

"You can sleep in your office instead. Lord knows you loved that room more than you ever loved me!" Alexander felt a thousand daggers pierce into his heart when he heard his wife's harsh words and voice hoarse from crying and yelling.

Hurt, Alexander was making his way back towards the door that led into their bedroom when his wife's monotone voice drew him back to her.  
"I have just one hope." Stony faced and her scarred heart spoke for her.

"What is it Eliza? I'll do anything." He meant every word of it, after all he did love her.

Almost whispering, she continued "I hope that you burn in hell, Mr. Hamilton." Voice stoic and eyes that were made of ice. They were a stark contrast to the burning and licking flames of rage that stoked themselves in the centre of her pupils.

"Now get out." Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to the dying fire.

As soon as she heard the soft click of the silver lock, her mind processed what had just happened. The smouldering embers that were once Alexander's wondrous decelerations of his undying, unyielding love. But, yet, love had died and love had yielded to a new mistress.

Falling once again to the floor, she dragged herself exhaustedly to the foot of the bed. She was unable to even think about sleeping in it after reading about what Alexander had done in it.

The fire was now all but extinguished. Laying her head down on the hard, cold floor. She stared blankly at the empty fire place, tears rolled silently down her flushed cheeks from her bloodshot eyes. Her heart had been shattered into a hundreds of thousands of pieces like shards of broken glass that were currently strewn across the floor like the aftermath of some destructive natural disaster. All by the man she thought loved her.

"The world will never know of your love," She whispered softly to herself. "Now I've burnt all the letters. Burnt the memories that might have redeemed you."

The storm had died down now, the sudden storm left no trace other than droplets of diamond rainwater on the delicate blades of emerald grass. The children had now returned outside. Naive and young. Oblivious and blissful. Beautiful and innocent.

She wished that she could go back to that state of childish youth. When they were young and in love. But, she realised, she was old and heartbroken. There was no turning back time. There was no way of him regaining her trust. There was no way of piecing together those burnt fragments of true love.

All that was left was her and her burning ashes.


End file.
